Kishore Singh: Beating the odd-even formula

I look terrible in wigs but I've invested in one anyway. It's got a fringe at the front that makes my already big nose look bigger. The swaying curls behind might look fetching on a certain kind of woman, but it makes me resemble someone from an unrepresented minority gender. "Why are you wearing a woman's wig," my horrified wife asked me when she saw my ears disappear behind a cascade of locks that I was practising swinging from side to side in front of the mirror. "I don't think you've been reading the papers," I informed her, "else you wouldn't ask such silly questions."

Now that Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal has announced his even-odd - he pronounces it "ode" - licence number plan for regulating traffic and pollution in the capital, and with public transport in the city in short supply, everyone seems to be thinking up innovative ways to beat the system for continuing to ply their cars on the road. Unfortunately for us, all our family vehicles are even numbered, which means they will remain stationery on odd numbered days, causing the chauffeur to fear he is going to be relieved from duty every alternate day. "Will they be considered holidays," he asked my daughter hopefully, though I know his actual fear is having his salary halved.

Meanwhile, my lawyer son is tickled pink that his peer group has made a representation before the court asking for immunity from Kejriwal's diktat because lawyers, it insists, are required to appear in one court or another during the course of the same day - and any inconvenience this will cause will have be suffered by their clients. (Interestingly, they haven't asked for a similar clemency for these clients.) This news has caused considerable grief. Journalists say they have to interview politicians, not all of whom can be found in Parliament; teachers are pleading that they provide tuitions to students in quite different localities; my wife's yoga teacher is no mean layabout when it comes to traversing the city to coax asanas from his reluctant disciples; at a stretch, I'm tempted to suggest that with multiple parties to attend, a similar exemption ought to be offered to your columnist in the interests of processing information.

My friends are toying with the idea of adding more cars to their garages, or unethically employing fake number plates, while my chauffeur has offered his services to anyone who'll have him on his odd days off. At least one of them has resorted to bribing his wife to drive him about town since women drivers are exempt from the constricting rule. "But they can't have male passengers accompanying them," my wife pointed out to him. "Oh, I know," he agreed, "but the traffic policeman can't challan somebody for giving a poor commuter a carpool ride." My brother, who often pulls overnighters outside Delhi, is wondering what he'll have to do to get back to the city without breaking the law.

I've decided on a wig for myself in the hope that no traffic constable will pull up a "woman" driver even though she may appear odd sized, if not numbered. My children are offering me tips on appropriate make-up, or clothes, but I'm not resorting to anything as drastic as cross-dressing yet. As long as the tresses are long and luscious, I'd like to see any traffic supervisor mess with me on the road. I might get whistled at, but that's a small price to pay to stay on the road in Kejriwal's capital.